


Old Habits Die Hard But We're Too Young to Die

by froyobro



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: :(, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/F, F/M, M/M, Ratings will probably change, but for now, coffee shop au but not really, first fic!!, hope yall like it, in later chapters it will be revealed why, steve isnt in the first chapter but dont worry our boy will be there soon, still buck recovering from being Winter Soldier, still superhuman, the coffee shop is Special, unfinished work, wink - Freeform, ~mystery~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-26 21:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7591081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froyobro/pseuds/froyobro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura takes care of her grandpa's coffee shop in Brooklyn--basically lives there, actually. One day, she comes in early and someone is standing there. Someone with lightning-fast reflexes, someone with a metal hand (arm?), someone with no place to go.</p><p>"So you break into /my/ shop?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Got Some Nerve

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first published work on AO3! (I have some on Tumblr, if you want the links for any crappy Check Please fics hit me up @ thebananamenace or buckisaduck) Feedback would be greatly appreciated and I hope you guys like this.

        It was normal and oddly comfortable, the shop. My grandfather's grandfather clock ticked obnoxiously and constantly, and if it was real quiet after hours, you could hear the cogs moving and grinding, like the shaky breath of wind brushing against tree branches. The smell of coffee grounds was an ever-enduring presence, giving the place a comforting aroma that hung on my clothes and in the wrinkles of my skin for days to come. Not that I'd go a day without coming there. I _am_ the person who opens it at the crack of dawn.

  
I was pretty familiar with the place I'd practically lived in since birth, and that's what tipped me off about the stranger hidden in the shadows. He couldn't be seen, but even as my boot hit the tile of the floor, I knew the, well, "chi" of the room was off, and I wasn't alone. I froze up and said to the dark, "I know someone's in here and I will call the police." After a moment, I also remembered to take the Stark phone out of my back pocket and try to quell the shaking of my hands as I pressed the "Emergency Call" button. One second, I was looking down at a screen, and the next, my blank hand was all that was in front of me. I ran to the door and tried to get out, but it was locked. By locked, I mean the doorknob was ripped off and there was no way it was getting opened any time soon. I may have screamed, peed a bit, but I took a deep breath and pressed my back to the door and said to the ninja murderer, "What do you want? If it's money, I barely have enough to keep this place afloat. Pl--please don't kill me!" My eyes began watering as the fear was truly sinking in, and my heartbeat sped up as a silver glint caught my eye and a bulky form appeared, a silhouette cast against the only overhead light.

  
"I don't intend on hurting you." The voice was deep and raspy, with the hint of an accent, just a slight lilt, barely recognizable. I couldn't see the male's face, but his hair was shoulder-length, knotted and all over the place.

  
Another deep breath from me. A minute of silence. "Then what--"I stopped to control my voice from wobbling, "what do you want?"

  
Paul and Macy wouldn't be in for their shift until six, and it was only four right now. Two hours to stall.

  
"I don't know." The voice sounded broken, scared almost. Well, that makes two of us, jackass.

  
"Why are you here?" I asked slowly and with as mellow a voice as possible, which was rare for me since I wasn't a model for mellow, especially right now. I found it in myself to make an exception for potential psychopaths, though.

  
The man moved to sit on the ground, his body making snapping, crackling, and popping sounds as if he hadn't moved for ages. He was a foot away from me sitting crisscross applesauce, his back erect and his hands on his knees. "I--I don't know."

  
I copied his stance, but crossed my arms and leaned back on my busted door. I'd decided to get to that later. My panic was soon dulled down as I quickly caught on that this guy wasn't going to immediately hurt me. Although, in the back of my mind I wondered if he had a gun. Almost hoped. I'd decided to get to that later as well.

  
"Well, what can you tell me, bud? I'm kinda lost here, and it seems you are too. Anything at all that you can tell me?" It was difficult to keep the impatient annoyance out of my voice, but I toned it down as much as I could. I watched him, un-moving as a statue, trying to discern his features. There was a nose, a sharp one at that. A shadow of his cheekbones gave him a sort of sickly, emaciated look. I couldn't tell anything else of his face besides the shine in his eyes, but then, his glove got my attention. Or, at least I thought it was a glove. It was metal, and it seemed to be a part of the man. I suddenly had an inkling as to who this man may be, but I waited for his response to my question nonetheless.

  
"' _Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield_.'" It was recited, and it sounded familiar to me.

  
I said, "So, you've been to the Smithsonian? I went there once on a field trip. The Cap section was probably my favorite." It was quiet for the next few minutes, my words carrying with them an emptiness filled with the awkward yet comforting tick of that wooden grandfather clock.

  
"Do you know who I am?" It was said suddenly and quickly, as if he were afraid to ask, afraid of the response but unable to hold back.

  
I thought for a moment, rearranging myself as that position was starting to give me cramps. "I think so, yes."

  
"Then why does your body language suggest calm reserve rather than fear?" His eyes searched my face, but I could only shrug. I just wasn't afraid anymore, and I kinda wanted my phone back.  
I got up and turned on all the lights, my back turned away from him for half-a-second.

  
As I figured, once I faced the shop again, he was gone. But he was going to be back. And thank goodness he left my phone on the counter or I would have smacked him that next time.


	2. The Many Names of James Buchanan Barnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the Winter Soldier returns to Joe's Cafe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy! So this chapter was gonna be broken up into two but it would have been an awkward split so I just crammed them all here. I'm also working on a new fic, a Check! Please AU that I'm gonnna try to smush into one chapter even though it should be hella broken up. I'll probably upload it in a week or so. In the meantime, I'll be stuck with no internet in Canada so I'll be AWOL for a bit. I hope you guys have a nice day and week and thanks for reading!

        It had been two weeks since mister assassin made his debut appearance, and my expectations of seeing him dwindled.

 

My doorknob was replaced, the anticipation of a shadow every morning at four on the dot soon faded, and I didn't let myself think about the man with the metal hand (or, if my hunch was correct, metal arm) for more than a second once a day.

 

It was a pleasant surprise when I came in, keys jingling and voice humming, to the man sitting at a bar stool with his hands in his lap, quietly facing me as if waiting.

 

"Well hey there stranger, haven't seen you in a while. Wanna hold my phone so I don't call the cops on you?" He grunted and picked at his nails absentmindedly. I set it on the counter and walked into the back room, saying behind me, "Want something to eat?" Today, his face was even more sunken, and his arms and torso, even through his layers, seemed scrawnier. There was some mumbling, something along the lines of, "No thank you," but I didn't take no for an answer. I was bouncing around, grabbing the right supplies and putting them together for something good that's not even served at the shop. A few minutes later I set two steaming plates of pancakes and a bottle of syrup in front of the guy because all the pancakes I made couldn't fit on one plate without falling. I knew a lot about Captain America, and if this was the guy I thought he was, then he probably had nearly the same appetite as the first super soldier.

 

At first, he just stared at me with those purple-rimmed eyes, waiting for something. I just stared back and said. "What, you too chicken to eat all of them? Don't wanna lose your dignity or whatever by having to be treated by a woman in her twenties?" Silence on the other end. I leaned forward and got in his personal space, careful to avoid the pancakes, and whispered, "I dare you to eat it all. If you don't I'm calling you a chicken for the rest of whatever this is. Don't think I won't!" If I knew anything about the male ego, it was inflated. It would not back down. I also made it a point to make it sound as little of an order as possible. May have read the files on him, not gonna lie.

 

I walked to the coffee-maker and started brewing some serious goodness. When I turned around, I saw an empty plate and a man with a metal hand basically suctioning the remaining flapjacks into his mouth with skill even I couldn't master. When he was done and I was sipping my bitter black coffee, I looked at him and asked, "Do you want more?" with a smile on my face.

 

"No thank you."

 

After the fourth mucho grande plate, I believed him.

 

It was around five-thirty when he was lying on the floor with his flesh hand on his stomach, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers. "You know, my co-workers are going to be here soon. Just a head's up."

 

He hmm'd a response absentmindedly. "Paul Ryder is always ten minutes late because he's making out with his girlfriend of two years and Macy Mckennawitz comes on time because she lives to please her superiors, in this case you. She wants a raise and to become manager so she can pay for college. You come early because you're lonely and spend the rest of your time occupying yourself with other people's lives and books."

 

I hmm'd a response. If he thought I'd be fazed, that I was unaware of any of these things, he was wrong. "Reconnaissance?" I guessed.

 

"Yes." He replied. I sat next to him, but far enough away to give space in case he wanted to lash out or puke up some pancakes.

 

"What would you like me to call you? I can't just call you big fella or something. What are you comfortable with? I only ask because I want this to be a regular thing. You know, feeding you because you have too big of an ego to feed yourself." I was messing with him, and although I was unsure he was aware of that, I'd rather have him refute my claims than stay silent and stoic. This sudden instinct to protect was normal, since I was basically the mother figure of all my friends.

 

"You can call me the asset. That was how I was referred to."

 

"Can I call you ass for short?" I said, looking at him in a way that said, "I'm not calling you asset, asshat." Silence. Geez, did he have a stick up his ass or what?

 

"You know who I am."

 

I shrugged. "We've been over this. I have my suspicions."

 

"The metal arm is a giveaway, I know." His flesh hand brushes against the metal thoughtfully. Then he stands up and takes his dishes, begins washing them in the sink nearby. I take a seat at the barstool he originally sat at.

 

"It's a growing trend nowadays, actually. Kinda hot too." The bitch still didn't smile. _Damnit_.

 

"So why don't you call me Winter Soldier?" He said so quietly I had to concentrate to listen.

 

"Well, first off, you have a fucking metal arm of death. I don't know what sets you off. Secondly, the Winter Soldier doesn't exist. You weren't given that name at birth, right?" His back to me, I saw his body move under the jacket, the rolling of shoulders, flexing of the back as he picked up other things in the sink and began washing.

 

"This body's name is James Buchanan Barnes. That's not who I am."

 

I crossed my legs and glanced at the clock, pushing some blue hair behind my ear. It was five-forty. Twenty minutes max til he fled the coop. "Who's James Buchanan Barnes, then? Reconnaissance."

 

"An American sniper and war hero of the Howling Commandos. The only one out of them to give his life in service of his country. He fell off a train."

 

"But his body's still alive, right? He's standing right here!" I was hoping to learn more about this man's psyche, and this felt like the way. Then again, not a psychiatrist. He turned to me with those haunted eyes.

 

"James Buchanan Barnes fell off a train. Hydra picked the asset up and gave him an arm."

 

I shook my head and grinned. "You are such a drama queen." He looked confused, maybe a little angry. Shaky grounds, Laura, shaky grounds. "Okay, so there's two people of the past. The body of James Barnes, and the mind of the asset. What does that make you?"

 

~

 

He disappeared right then, there for a second, out the window for the next. He was a no-show for four days, but made a return once again just to bother me. Oh, the things I do for homeless kitties.

 

He sat at his usual bar stool and was facing me, just like the second time, and I couldn't help but smile when I saw him.

 

"Hey big fella. I'm just going to call you big fella for now since you're going through a bit of an identity crisis. That's okay, right?" I asked hesitantly. 

 

He nodded slowly, his hair, clothes, face, everything messy as ever. But as I glanced around my place, it was sparkling and smelled of disinfectant and the coffee-grounds aroma was faint. I had to change that, so I started brewing. "Hey, did you clean?" I asked, my back turned from him as the water boiled in the coffeepot.

 

"It was to repay you for the pancakes the other day." His hands were on the counter, and he was leaning forward.

 

"That was nice of you, big fella. I'm thinking eggs today. Yeah, eggs sound good."

 

I ran into the back room and began the sizzling, even as he said, "No, you don't need to do that."

 

"Shut up," I replied in a singsong tone and flipped two at a time, silently amazed at my sudden skill. A minute later one fell on the floor, but I will choose to leave that part out of the memoir. Ten minutes later, there were two empty cartons and two bowls filled to the brim with fried egg perfection. It was a change from plates. He was still sitting there, hands in front of him playing some sort of one-on-one thumb war. I set it in front of him and asked, "How do you like your coffee?"

 

"Uh..."

 

"If you don't know, that's fine. I _love_ experimenting. Ever tried hot sauce with coffee? Probably not. Oh! Do you want hot sauce on your eggs? They taste--Oh, you're almost done already. Okay." I filled some black coffee, decaf, then put some cream in and mixed for him. "The mug is warm so be careful, wouldn't want to damage the metal. Can that metal melt?" Wow, was I feeling chatty today.

 

He shook his head as he took a sip, then, seemingly satisfied, drank more. Then ate more eggs. And drank some more. I poured him another cup, told him that it was decaf with dash of creme in case he decided to cheat on me and go somewhere else for his homeless kitty needs (which got me a hint of a smile!! I was so happy). Once he was done, we switched positions and I was on the stool and he was cleaning his dishes.

 

"What can I call you?" He asked as I watched his back. It seemed a bit less scrawny. Not by much, but it was something.

 

"My name's Laura Glaslow, which I think you already know."

 

"What do you want me to call you?" He rephrased.

 

I thought for a moment. "Cressida, Cressy for short."

 

He turned and gave me a confused look. "Why?"

 

I shrugged and replied, "It's a nice name. Laura is kinda boring, I've been called that my whole life. I could get used to Cressy, though. And I could rename this place "Cressy's Coffee" instead of "Joe's Diner." IT'S NOT EVEN A DINER! IT'S A COFFEE SHOP! My grandfather knew nothing." I sighed dramatically, putting my forehead in my hand, and then grinned at him.

 

He was looking at me but also through me, analyzing. "I'm going to call you Laura because this is confusing."

 

"Says the fella with at least three different names." I counted in my head: 1) James, 2) (Ass)et, 3) Winter Soldier, 4) big fella, and 5) Bucky. Number five is one I know to stay away from for now.

 

It was silent for a bit, which I've grown accustomed to in this guy's presence. He sat two bar stools away, and began fiddling again. I broke the silence this time. "Hey, big fella, I surprisingly enjoy your company, but consider this: shower. Or even, like, deodorant!" He ran his hand through his hair self-consciously.

 

"I don't have any money."

 

"I have a growing suspicion you don't live in a cozy two bedroom apartment either." He narrowed his eyes, but there was no heat behind the glare, his eyes sunken and screaming for sleep. Man, he tired me out just looking at him.

 

"I have an idea." He waited expectantly. Suddenly, I was nervous, and without realizing it started to have my own one-on-one thumb war. "Ok, I figure you probably don't like charity. But you also don't like to be seen. But you need a serious shower and some place to sleep. What if--uh--" He was staring at me with those grey-blue eyes and I felt scrutinized, but I pushed it away. I didn't get shaken up easily, not when I wasn't in danger. "What if you cleaned around here--once business was closed and no one was here, of course--at a certain time at night, and then during the day you could stay at my place and take a shower, eat, sleep, come and go as you please. Now before you get jumpy and deny doing anything because you don't think I'm worth it or you're worth it or whatever inner battle you're fighting, just--" I took a deep breath, rubbing my collarbone. He was staring, and I couldn't read his expression. "Just think of it as a temporary setup. Because I enjoy making you food but you smell like sewage and you're totally damaging my rep." Another deep breath. Whoo, done with the speech.

 

A beat of silence.

 

"You assume I know where you live?" Was all he asked.

 

"I'm not overestimating your spy skills, am I?" Another small smile. Still those haunted eyes, but the smile made everything worth it.


	3. Remember the Past We Left Behind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes finds a home, after months on the run. Unfortunately, brainwashing has repercussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIIII!!!! I'm back from CaNaDa! Here's another chapter, with many Buck feels. I feel so weird typing Big Fella all the time, so I'll probably fix that in a future chapter. Another thing to look forward in the next chapter: STEVIE. I love you guys and thank you for all the support. Hope you enjoy!

        I went to the store after work that night and picked up a men's razor (because his face was becoming less sexy scruff and more lumberjack than I'm comfortable with), some shampoo that says "Men's" on it (though I don't know what differentiates between men's and women's shampoo besides the price), and jokingly grabbed some condoms. The cashier gave me a weird look but I just shrugged and said, "My mom's calling it a phase." The look I received was terrible, but I made sure to keep a straight face until I got in my car. That's when the tears of laughter came. Oh, if only someone else saw that.

 

I got to my apartment on the third floor, not expecting to see my big fella standing at the door. "I know I break into your shop every day, but I think walkin' into a gal's room without her permission is just wrong." I smiled at his New York tone, knowing that it was probably temporary and appreciating it all the more. I grabbed my keys out of my purse, unlocked the door, then gestured for him to walk in first as I took the spare off those annoying and painful keychains. I slipped it into the grocery bag and handed it to him, walking past to the kitchen for some beer.

 

"Want a bottle?" I called behind me.

 

"No, thank you." I grabbed two anyways.

 

After we both had a sip and his face contorted into disgust (then chugged down more), I showed him around and asked if he knew how to work a television.

 

"It shouldn't be too hard. I mean, it looks like a radio with a screen, and I know a few things about technology I think." I showed him anyways, gesturing to all the buttons on the remote and how they operate and how to put DVDs in.

 

"Thank you, Laura." He started looking uncertain, uncomfortable, and un-something as I was halfway through the remote tutorial. "But--"

 

"Listen, Big Fella." Big Fella was going to be capitalized from now on in my head. "We had a deal. I know you're a man of honor and you will NOT--" I paused to poke his chest and glare up into his dead eyes, "--back out on this deal. I need help, you promised help. I paid for a razor, you're gonna use said razor. Especially because of the forest on your face. I'm not taking any shit from you, Big Fella."

 

For the first time, he seemed sort of scared, and instantly I backed off. I saw the reports online. All the shit he'd done, but also all the shit done to him. I looked down and said quieter, "I'm sorry. I should treat you with respect. I just want you to know I'm not giving up on you."

 

He said again, reserved, "Thank you, Laura." I looked up and smiled half-heartedly.

 

Dramatic pause of silence.

 

"I saw what you said at the convenience store," He added a minute later. I smiled bigger, tried not to giggle. The ghostly smile I yearned to see more of returned. "The lady asked her co-worker how a woman would use a condom." I began laughing so hard I had to lie down on the floor.

 

After a minute of him sitting on the couch watching me have a fit (with that cute little almost-smile), I sighed and got up. "How about some food?" I asked, walking into the kitchen and boiling some water for spaghetti, giggling at random moments.

 

"No, thank you," Big Fella said.

 

He barely left any for me.

 

~~~

 

The first time I came home from work after I invited the homeless kitten to stay, the shower was running. I shrugged off my coat and walked into the kitchen, preheating the oven and taking out chicken nuggets. Gourmet dining, I know. Thirty minutes later, the dinosaur-shaped goodness was steaming and I wondered if Big Fella used up all my warm water yet. Another half-hour, his stacked plate was cold and mushy, mine scattered with crumbs, and I grew increasingly anxious for him.

 

Fighting a war within myself, I worried that hovering would cross a line but I also worried that he wasn't okay. I mean, he's never okay but you know what I mean.

 

I pushed my chair away from the table and stood up with purpose. For a minute, I stood at the door, fist raised but not daring to knock. When I did, no one replied. Was this a ploy to prevent me from finding out he left soon enough so that I wouldn't ever be able to find him ever again?

 

That thought bothered me, and I tried the door knob but it was locked. I reached above the door and grabbed the key, not missing a beat and charging in---

 

\---to see my homeless kitten sitting in the bath as the too-high pressurized water pelted him, giving his back red splotches.

 

In a tentative voice I said, "Hey, Big Fella. Watcha doin?" I felt the water, and it was like cold shards of ice slashing my hand. I took my hand away quickly and shut it off, draining the tub as well. Then, I wrapped a towel around his shoulders. Running into the hall to my closet, I grabbed about a dozen more and placed them all over him. I couldn't trust that he wouldn't choke me with his metal arm if I tried to lift him out of the tub or even touch him.

Instead, I spoke softly to him, sitting on the side of the tub and running my fingers across the tiles aimlessly. "You know, my grandfather and I were really close. He was the first person who told me I was beautiful, that I mattered. My parents are great, I'm not trying to bash them. It's just that, they're really in love with each other. I know that all parents are supposed love each other, but my parents are borderline obsessive. They'd go out to fancy dinners, just the two of them, at least twice a week. I'm actually surprised I only have one brother instead of a ton of siblings.

 

"When they started drifting apart, fighting more, I was staying nearly four nights a week at my grandpa's, because all they did was fight and go to therapy. I didn't care, it meant spending more time with someone who paid an incredible amount of attention to me!" No response from the peanut gallery. He was staring at the wall, unmoving, arms wrapped around his legs like a child hearing a ghost story. I continued, nonetheless. Loved hearing myself talk.

 

"One day, we were playing gin rummy while my brother was sleeping in another room. I was about fourteen, and I told him that I hated my parents and wished they would die so that I could stay with him." I smiled, embarrassed at that memory. "I know what you're thinking, Big Fella: So she's always been angsty! Anyways, Grandpa stopped all he was doing and looked at me square in the eyes, and for a second I worried I was going to get in big trouble for saying that. But he just said, "If they died, it wouldn't give you a chance to forgive them." I was kind of hurt he was picking their side, even though one of those people was his kid. "Why would I want to forgive them? They don't deserve it!" I was whining. He smiled and shook his head. "God keeps sinners alive as a chance for them to be able to right their wrongs and change their ways." Then there was more talking about my parents that's less important. I never forgot what he said, though. I never asked why he was so old, either." I laughed, although my eyes became a little watery. Wow, what a sap I am.

 

"So, lesson of that boring blast to the past, Biggie. You're still here, still alive. It's a good thing. You can't necessarily right your wrongs, but you can start doing more rights to make the wrongs hold little to no power. Or whatever. It's not like I know what I'm talking about."

 

He blinked a few times, still staring at the wall. I didn't even know if he heard me. Then, as I was about to get up (because I wasn't good with extended periods of silence), his voice was so quiet I had to lean in to hear, but not too close, of course. "You don't know half the things I've done. Hell, I don't even know."

 

I probably knew about his history more then he did, between that history class in college and all of the reports online. I didn't bring that up because it didn't matter. Neither of his past personas was the guy sitting in the tub, chained up by confusion and drowning in a cloud of depression. Neither of his past identities have the chance to become the person he will become. "C'mon, Big Fella. Let's get you some clothes. Don't want my mom getting the wrong idea!" No smile, not that I expected one.

 

I went into my closet and pulled out my One-Night-Stand box, filled with hats, bras, undershirts, boxers, and even a shoe. I don't know how it got there, to be honest. After finding a somewhat normal ensemble of clothes, I walked in and Big Fella was standing tall and not clothed whatsoever. I looked away and threw the clothes somewhere into the bathroom before shutting the door and running away. His butt was cute, but the thing that really got me running was the scars. He walked in the kitchen a few minutes later and watched me for a few moments, sitting down and clutching my sheep coffee mug to death. "I need more clothes," he muttered.

 

I said, mostly into my cup, "No shit, Sherlock." Then, looking up, but focusing on his borrowed shirt instead, I replied, "We should go shopping sometime this week! Or, you know, I will trek the mall alone and try to guess your sizes." The second sentence was added after a look of pure fear crossed his face. "Never thought you'd hate shopping, though, Big Fella. I pegged you for a fashionista." I sighed theatrically and got up, walking to the bathroom. "I'm going to bed now, but if you need anything feel free to scream your head off because that's the only way you'll be able to wake me up."

 

He mumbled a slightly confused, "..Okay?" and I heard some walking around.

 

After I picked up all the towels in the bathroom and brushed my teeth, I peeked into the livingroom and saw him browsing the TV. "Hey, Big Fella? Make sure you get some sleep. And feel free to whatever food you'd like. Good night."

 

He looked over to me, like a lost puppy. "Thank you, Laura." I smiled at him and went to bed.

 

~~~

 

The Winter Soldier had a voice on him, I had to give him that. The alarm clock said 1.30 AM, and I was supposed to get up in another two hours anyways, so I pushed myself out of bed and sleep-ran to the living room, where the source of the sound was writhing on the floor.

 

"Hey, Big Fella!" I tried to be louder than him, but I knew that it was hopeless. The only way he would wake up was to be scared awake. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed my broom, slowly approaching the screaming bundle. I pointed the bristly part at him and lightly caressed his foot. Being tickled awake doesn't sound so bad, does it?

 

All of the sudden, he sprung into action. His legs gripped the broom and yanked it out of my arm, throwing it straight into his hands. He did that weird backwards worm move and shot up, holding my broom like a bat and about to hit the living shit out of me. I yelled, "Biggie!" once more, just before the hard wood handle could smash into my skull.

 

His eyes cleared up all the sudden. He collapsed on the floor, landing on his butt into criss-cross applesauce. He threw the broom halfheartedly across the room, and it banged into the wall as if someone fired it into a cannon and took aim. He buried his face into his hands and rubbed his eyes for a few minutes.

 

I brewed some coffee and set two cups on the table in front of the couch. "Hey, Big Fella. Let's sit on the couch and watch some television." I knelt in front of him and slowly reached out for his non-metal hand. He yanked it back as soon as my arm entered his line of vision, and wrapped both hands underneath his arms. I sighed and sat on the couch, grabbing the remote and changing the channel to On Demand. I was going to get a shitty comedy because I needed some lightheartedness right now.

 

A few minutes into the movie, Big Fella sat on the couch, as far away as possible from me. But, he took a cup of coffee and started sipping. Not paying attention, I grabbed the leftover cup and almost spat all over my nice pink carpet. He took my black coffee! I just drank creme and sugar! I was going to barf. I looked over and glared at his cup. Then, my eyes flitted to his face. He was crying, shaking. Well, not violently. It was more like quiet manly tears and the shaking was like a vibrating kitten. I didn't want to know what he dreamt about. I broke the silence to say, "You stole my coffee, dude."

 

"You tickled my foot with a broom, dude," He replied mockingly, still looking straight at the TV. Then, adding a few seconds later, "I like this kind better."

 

I scooted closer to him, and he flinched, which made me flinch. "Big Fella, can I hug you?" I asked.

 

No reply. He looked at me and squinted at me. He looked angry, or was that confusion? I could literally never tell. He set his cup down on the table, though. A sign? I took one more butt-scootch and then we were nearly shoulder-touching. His metal arm was radiating heat. Or was that his normal arm? Wait, right side, normal arm, right. Ok. I kept my hands nonthreatening as I slowly moved them around his shoulders. This sideways hug was kind of awkward. Nonetheless, I tried to make myself comfortable and rested my head on his squishy, muscly shoulder and made sure not to tighten my arms around him, comfortably keeping them loose in case he changed his mind.

 

After a few minutes, I laughed at a joke a guy in the movie said, and forgot that I was hugging a supersoldier. Until his arms moved to bring me closer. I tried not to jump at the contact and stay as still as possible as he hugged me back. His hands splayed across my back and he buried his head into my shoulder. My hands were migrated to the center of his upper back, and I rubbed little circles. "Whyryasonstmff," came from my shoulders a bit later.

 

"Hmm?" I asked, brought back from a light sleep.

 

"Why are you so nice to me," He repeated more clearly, stating it more than asking.

 

I shrugged on the shoulder he wasn't resting on. "Does kindness need a reason?" Then, after a moment I added, "Do you think I'm plotting against you? That I'm doing these nice things because of an ulterior motive?"

 

Immediately, Big Fella replied, "Yes." Next, "Well, now I'm not so sure. But maybe."

 

I rubbed his back more and, after a few seconds, got up for work. "That's okay, Big Fella. But you have my word that I wouldn't do that. I don't have any spy friends, sadly. Besides you. That I know of." I grinned at him and walked to my room. When I came back out, he was gone, but there was a note under the coffee he stole. "I borrowed sixty dollars (clothes are expensive but I promise to pay you back). Won't be back til later."

 

That was it.

 

And that was all I needed.

 


	4. sad unfinished end im sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so I'm just gonna write a summary down of what would have happened if I stayed dedicated to this story. :((

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hardly anyone read this, but if I let down those who did, I'm sorry. It wasn't that good. If anyone else wants to write it, if they like at least the premise of this whole mess, just be like "oh yeah froyobr0 never followed thru so i did it"

So Laura is hella pansexual, and trans, SURPRISE!! BTW shes also black with cool blue hair. Bc two generic white gays (I love you stucky but) is enough. We were gonna get to all that but we didn't. Note Bucky being a little uncomfortable at first (understandable, but he has flaws. He also has a good heart so he adjusts like a normal human should). Obvs. Bucky starts working there and slowly gets more and more fine ab working during the day. He starts to #HEAL. Then Steve comes into the shop. Why this hole in the wall shop in brooklyn, you most likely do not ask? OH YEAH That's where steve-o and buckers used to live Pre-War, Pre-Sadness. Buck literally runs away when they spot each other and Laura yells at friggin captain america!! "Why did you scare him?!! Stupid Steve!" BAMF!! Idk then buck and steve somehow talk when laura's all "you guys need to discuss ur feelings" while Laura goes to her home town and faces people. She gets sad but Buck gets there when she texts him (they went phone shopping) that some old transphobic assholes from high school stopped by. Buck doesn't beat them up but he does open the door the next time they come around. They don't come around anymore. Yeah that was basically to show Laura/Buck friendship. There's also some Laura-observing-geriatrics-in-love during Bucky's breaks at the coffee shop nbd. It gets super cute. Bucky leaves Laura's apt not to live with steve but to live alone bc he needs to feel independent yano. Still works at the coffee shop. A half a year or so later Bucky goes to therapy, a year after that Steve moves in with Bucky, two months after that they propose to each other because they're fucking nerds. Laura is maid of honor. Laura also has a story, she gets with an old friend named Caroline and they grow old together and go to brunch with retired super soldiers. Yeah. Steve retires. Fuck responsibility.   
Ah, what could have been. But just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Thanks, read my better stories!! <33


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